


one, two, three

by neonheartbeat



Series: Filled Prompts [14]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Boxing, F/M, Fighting, Gen, Groping, Kickboxing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-30
Updated: 2020-07-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:22:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25604269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neonheartbeat/pseuds/neonheartbeat
Summary: Rey's a scrappy street fighter, Ben Solo's a professional boxer using the name Kylo Ren who bites off more than he can chew when he meets her.___This was a request on twitter from @raisydidleys, who wanted a boxing AU drabble! I hope I did it justice!
Relationships: Armitage Hux & Ben Solo | Kylo Ren, Kylo Ren/Rey, Luke Skywalker & Rey & Ben Solo, Rey & Luke Skywalker, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Series: Filled Prompts [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1138814
Comments: 26
Kudos: 156





	one, two, three

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adyadintheforce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adyadintheforce/gifts).



_ Wrist, then palm, then knuckles. _

The pattern was always the same when she wrapped her hands under her gloves, and it was a nice, repeated motion to go through. A prayer. A mantra.  _ Don’t break your fucking hands, kid, _ warned the voice of every teacher she’d ever had as she wound her hands.

_ Wrists. Palms. Knuckles.  _

Rey popped her mouthguard back in and shook her head sharply to one side, rolling her shoulders, facing the ring and the shouting crowd who’d come to watch— who knew what they did for a fucking living, the kind of people that populated the seats of a back-alley, warehouse-hosted fighting match. The lineup tonight looked difficult, but she knew the match would be thrown in her favor at least twice, and she privately hoped it was gonna be that big, ugly fucker Plutt, because he had to be three times her size and she didn’t like the idea of losing another molar.

_ In a real match, I wouldn’t get anywhere near him,  _ she thought, squaring up as she entered the cage. That was all part of the fun with shit like this, though, and it was what people paid to see, and bet on seeing.  _ Betting being the profitable part, _ she thought, frowning at the bookies. 

Oh, well. Didn’t matter. She’d walk away with at least a grand. Rey adjusted her gloves and crouched into a ready stance, narrowing her eyes as the first opponent entered the ring.

* * *

“Did you want a beer?” asked Armitage, sidling in alongside his guest. “I think someone has a cooler down there. Five bucks each. Ice-cold.”

“I don’t drink,” said the other man. “Why did you bring me here, again? Watching a bunch of teenagers get into fistfights isn’t my idea of a fun weekend.”

Armitage laughed. “Man, lighten up, Solo. You’re a boxer, they’re boxers. Thought you might want to see how the other half lives without fancy sponsors and shit.”

“See, you said that earlier, but now I’m thinking you just—” Solo blinked, suddenly distracted by the chaos in the ring not ten feet away (they’d gotten excellent seats). “Who  _ is _ that?”

“Who, the girl?”

Solo’s face darkened. “They’re both girls, Hux, and those two should  _ not _ be competing against each oth—”

A cheer went up from the crowd, and both men leaned in to watch as the smaller, leaner woman got her arm around the taller, bulkier blond one’s throat and wrestled her to the ground by sheer force of will, the referee waving his arms and shouting before the two women separated, panting and spitting blood. 

Solo’s mouth dropped in disbelief. The lean woman had won?  _ The match has to be thrown, _ he thought, shaking his head in disbelief as money started exchanging hands. His conviction weakened as she lost the next match, against a massive man who could have been an ex-sumo wrestler, but strengthened when she won the third, against a man a few inches taller and strapped with lean muscle, his olive-dark skin gleaming in the lights from overhead.  _ Bullshit. No way she won that.  _

The girl separated from her opponent after the ref had called the match and strolled around the ring, waving and cheering, and had just passed in front of the chain-link fence when Solo shouted over the crowd’s noise to Hux, “This is a bunch of staged bullshit!”

“Hey!” she yelled through the fence, spitting out her mouthguard, and Solo turned, incredulous, to see that she was looking right at him. “Hey! What the fuck did you just say?” When he didn’t answer, she slammed her hands on the fence. “I said  _ what the fuck did you just say to me?” _

He stood, and was slightly,  _ slightly _ gratified as she took in the full sight of him. He knew he was a big man, and her eyebrows twitched up a little, but to her credit, she did not back down. “I said this is  _ staged bullshit, _ ” he said coolly. 

“And who the fuck do you think you are?” she demanded, glaring up at him. 

Solo had to hand it to her: one eye was almost swollen shut, but still blazed with anger, and her nose was bleeding, along with her mouth, but she was not about to let a perceived insult to her pride fly. “I’m Kylo Ren,” he said, very aware that the crowd had quieted to listen in on this, and at the name a couple of gasps went up, mutters, shouts. “Who are  _ you _ ?”

“I’m— I’m Rey,” she said, taken aback, but no less angry. “Just Rey. And unless you’re gonna come into the fucking ring with me, I suggest you shut the hell up about what I’m doing in it.”

“Don’t—” Hux began, low and hurried, but Solo shook him off. 

“Uh-huh,” he said, focused intently on her face and lowering his tone so only she could hear. “No, I know a thrown match when I see it. You wouldn’t make it a minute in the ring for a real fight.”

“This  _ is _ a real fight,” she spat, practically vibrating through the fence.

“Not from where I’m standing,” he said.

“Then you get in the ring with me,” she said, and the crowd let out a long, low  _ oooh, _ eagerly craning their necks forward. “Now. Or are you too much of a coward to put your money where your mouth is?”

Solo scoffed. “My money’s on  _ me, _ kid. Ten grand.”

“Solo,” hissed Armitage, shocked, “what are you doing?”

“Ten grand says what?” demanded Rey.

He was not to be deterred. “Ten grand says right now, right here, against a  _ real _ boxer, you’re losing.”

The crowd booed, hissed, cheered as Rey grinned widely, her teeth stained red. “Yeah? Done. Get your ass in here, big boy.” More money started exchanging hands, shouting swelled in volume, bookies ran from person to person in a flurry of paper.

“You’re out of your mind,” snapped Armitage. “As your  _ team member _ I highly advise you to—”

“Oh, can it, Hux,” said Solo irritably. Ten grand would be a small price to pay to prove these stupid underground matches were all staged. He addressed Rey as he leaned closer to the fence. “Ten grand. You lose, I take all the bets home. You win, you take all.”

Something about her answering grin was familiar. Something she couldn’t… no, he  _ did _ know this girl: she was that wiry little gym rat who lived in his uncle’s old facility, the place Luke had trained him when he was much, much younger. He  _ knew _ her; hadn’t seen her in two years, but that face was unmistakable. Five-seven, lean, brown-haired: did she know who he actually was? “Done,” she said, and Solo lost concentration as the crowd roared for him to get him. 

He left Hux spluttering on the bench to come up with the ten grand and swung down to the entrance, being shouted at and clapped on the back by observers in various stages of inebriation as he got to the ring and started stripping down. Thank God he’d decided to wear track pants today. Off came the jacket, the button-down, the undershirt: off came the pristine Air Jordans he’d picked out that morning, off came his socks, and soon he stood, waiting, in black Adidas track pants and bare feet in the sand of the fighting ring, bare-handed and without any protective gear at all.

Rey wore only a sports bra that might have, at one point, been white, but was now stained with the dust and dirt and sweat of the ring, and her shorts were blue. Blood speckled the white stripes on them. She wore sneakers, and after a moment of looking at him, she leaned down and took them off, too, matching him. 

“What, not gonna take off the mouthguard?” he called, watching her toss her shoes over the fence to someone.

“Fat chance, big guy.” She spread her feet and beckoned with both hands. “Come on. Let’s go.”

Solo’s eyes narrowed, and he charged.

* * *

It wasn’t like she’d not been expecting his onslaught. Rather, Rey thought, as she grappled with the man who outweighed her by at least eighty pounds and a foot of height, she had been expecting it, but she’d been banking on him to fight like he did in  _ his _ ring. With, you know. Fair rules and no below the belt moves, shit like that.  Which he did, at first, but once she got in a blow to his thigh and toppled him to one knee, he seemed to realize that all of that was off the table, and heaved himself back up to come at her with twice as much force. 

_ We had the same teacher. Don't act so surprised. _

Kylo Ren was big. Broad. Wide, in the way a heavyweight boxer usually was, and he wasn’t built for show, but for strength: thick waist, heavy arms, huge shoulders. His whole torso bore discolored, deep-tissue bruises. Old bruises. She knew exactly where those bruises had come from, too.  _ Shit, shit.  _ She danced out of the way as he lunged for her hips, likely to lift her up and pin her down, and regrouped: she’d have to approach this better. 

He was agile, light on his feet for someone his size, but she was quicker, smaller, with a lower center of gravity.  _ I have to knock him down, _ she thought, weaving and bobbing as he swung at her, and then he  _ got _ her, and the sharp, sudden blow on her already-bruised cheekbone sent fire piercing through her face as the crowd shrieked and she got her footing, whirling away.  _ Shit! _ She pushed it to the back burner and scowled at him through her mouthguard. He had blood on his knuckles, and was still crouched into a stance, sizing her up.

_ “Get him! _ ” someone screamed, and Rey feinted to the left, whirling back in and landing a blow to his mouth. The crowd roared approval. Energized by the cheering, and by the way Ren was staggering like a tree about to fall, Rey jumped back in and started landing hook after hook to his face. Right, left, right, left: blood spurted from his mouth, the skin above his eye split, and he picked her up like she was nothing, lifted her high—

_ Oh, shit, he got me, _ she had time to think in horror before he crashed to the sand with her and pinned her down, gasping and drooling blood into her face. She’d opened her defenses, gotten too close, and for what? “No—” she wheezed, trying to wriggle free. 

“One! Two! Three!” chanted the crowd in unison. Rey brought her knee up and caught him in the gut, and Ren…  _ growled _ at her, literally growled. Like a wild animal. A dog.  _ Fuck you.  _ She did it again, and elbowed him in the throat, digging her teeth into his arm. Ren bellowed and jerked away, giving her an opening to hook her leg and arm around him and use all her strength to roll atop him, pinning him down, and headbutting him in the face.

Something cracked, and Ren’s nose began to gush blood. It streamed across his cheeks, puddling in the dirt, and he choked, struggling as the crowd began to count again, screaming in delight as Rey held him there. Her adrenaline was so high she thought she might be able to do anything— throw him like Superman, fly, climb a mountain—

_ “ Ten!” _ screamed the crowd, and she sat back, releasing him and gasping for air as the referee called the match and held her wrist up to thunderous cheers. 

Ren sat up, dazed and bleeding, one eye swelling as he stared at her. “Huh,” he said, blood-stained saliva staining his chin. “Go figure.”

“I’ll take my money, thanks,” she said tightly, standing. There was a moment of brief hesitation, and then she extended her hand to him. He took it and hauled himself upright, staggering a little and casting a glance at the spectators, but the crowd wasn’t booing— they were cheering. 

“Why the fuck aren’t you fighting in pro leagues?” he asked, limping to the gate. 

“Doesn’t pay as well. And I like making my own schedule.” Rey scowled. Who did this guy think he was, asking her about her personal life? “I know all about you, though. Big name pro boxer, ran off on his family. Don’t think I’m stupid.”

“Oh, do you,” he said stiffly, halting by the gate and spitting a gob of blood into the dirt before eyeing her up with that strange, inscrutable expression of his. “Mm. You do. How’s my uncle Luke these days?”

Shock crossed her face, but he only turned away and into the stadium,

Rey barely felt the wad of money being pressed into her palm. 

* * *

A week passed. Rey spent her free time (which she suddenly had a lot of, with ten grand plus more being handed over to her after that cage fight) cleaning the gym and doing yoga as much as she could while recovering. Kylo Ren had disappeared, likely back to whatever plane of existence he normally occupied, and she definitely did not think about him. Not at all. Not her. Nope.

“I’m going out to grab a coffee,” Luke called from the front office, waving at her. “Be back in ten.”

“Okay, see you,” she said, waving back as she swept the raised ring clean with a broom and the bell clanged, signaling the shutting door. Last time she’d swept this, she’d found a mouthguard and a whole tooth. Damn kids. The bell to the door rang lightly a second time. “You forget your wallet again?” she called without looking up. There was no answer. “Luke?”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Rey’s hackles rose and she looked up— it was  _ him, _ the fucking gall of him to come back here. Taped-up nose, dark under-eye circles, a crooked mouth: he looked worse than she did, but still. “I can pay for an hour. The dummies still available?”

“Nobody’s— the— gym’s closed,” she squawked, indignant as he tossed a wad of bills on the counter and headed in anyway. “Hey!”

“Doesn’t look closed.” He wore a navy blue hoodie, the hood pulled up, and as he yanked it down, his dark hair flopped free. “Want a lesson? I can give you some pointers.”

“I don’t need anything from you,” she snapped, hopping off the ring and wielding the broom like a sword. Her cheek throbbed with the memory of the one hit he’d gotten in. “Luke’s— Luke’s coming back any minute now. Why are you here?”

One big shoulder lifted and fell. “Not for a rematch.”

“No?” She lowered the broom. Slightly. He did have money, and he didn’t seem like he was holding a grudge, so… “Fine. Take the hanging bag in the back.”

“Mm,” he said in answer, and headed off, and if she watched out of the corner of her eye as he took off his jacket and changed by the open lockers, well, that was her business.

* * *

Solo squared off with the bag and landed in a few good solid punches: one, two: one, two. He tucked his elbows in and brought his hands up again, exhaling as the action grounded him, brought him some stability.  _ Elbows in, feet apart, center of gravity low. One, two. One, two.  _ The bag swung and wobbled as he landed another hit, then another, then another. He ducked, turned, hit again. One, two. One, two. 

“Your knee’s locked,” said a voice by his elbow, and he almost jumped out of his skin. Rey was standing there, her bruised little face glaring at him. “Unlock it. Crouch.”

He scowled, but did as she said, wincing at the answering ache in his knee.  _ I’m due for a cortisol shot, I think.  _ She noticed his facial expression, and her brows twitched. “Hurts,” he explained, landing two more punches and a kick for good measure.

“Injury?”

“No. I’m just old.” He clenched his jaw and struck out: one, two, three, kick. Sweat was beginning to bead on his lip and forehead. “Thirty-one.”

“Oh.” Rey watched, set down the broom, and squatted lightly, mimicking his movements: one, two, three, kick. Her leg extended almost perfectly, and he couldn’t help but feel a stab of jealousy at how fluid and natural her movement was. 

“Good, but you’re over extending. Keep your thigh hard, control it. Like so.” He raised his own leg, ignoring the protest in his supporting knee, and kicked twice:  _ whap-whap.  _

Rey did as he said and kicked the bag, balanced well. “Huh. Feels solid.”

“Yeah, well. You need all the kickboxing tips if you’re gonna fight in a cage,” he said lightly, elbowing the bag sharply and punching it again. 

“Why’re you mad? Because a girl wiped the floor with you?” She thrust out her fists and punched the bag five times in sharp succession: left-right-left-right-left, and kicked it, bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

He frowned at the bag. “No.” Another double kick, high and hard:  _ whap-whap.  _ “You don’t remember me?”

“I remember you,” Rey said, stepping back. She didn’t even seem winded. “Your uncle has, like, a million newspaper clippings of you in highschool wrestling and then when you became a boxer. Stuff from magazines. He was proud. He trained you well, and then you dumped him and went off on your own with your stupid new team.”

“I used to come here a lot,” he said, wiping his forehead with his arm. 

“Yeah. Before you turned into a dick.”

“So that challenge _was_ personal. No wonder I lost.”

She scoffed. “It wasn’t— no. I didn't even know you at first, but I recognized you the minute you stepped into the ring.”

“With my shirt off?”

“Fuck off,” she said, but her mouth was twisting like she was trying not to smile. “You know, Luke lost like eighty percent of the girls who were here taking kickboxing lessons when you left?”

He rolled his eyes. “Really. But not you?”

“No. I like boxing.” She squared up with the bag again and landed a sharp, brutal set of blows that had him wincing in sympathy for the bag. “And I don’t like guys who accuse me of only winning because of thrown matches.”

“Were any of them actually thrown?” Solo asked.

She glanced at him, a flush on her cheeks. “Yeah. I don’t know which, though. But I’ve fought Phasma before— that big woman— and it hasn’t been thrown and I’ve won a few times. I’m good.”

“You are,” he conceded. “Very good. I haven’t had my ass kicked like that since 2017.”

She grinned at him, then, and he felt like he was staring into the sun: she had such a nice smile, all beaming and bright. “You could stand to have it kicked more often. Check my stance?”

Solo glanced down. Her feet were slightly too far apart: a strange mistake for someone like her to make. “Feet in,” he said, tapping her knee with a hand, and she shuffled inward as he came up around the back of her and gripped her right wrist, moving it down. “There.” Her back was pressed to his front, and she was warm: warm and solid. “There,” he said, very quietly. She might startle if he was too loud— and he’d been too loud and sharp before, scared people away. “Like that.”

Rey exhaled deeply and nodded. “Like this,” she said, and bent forward the slightest bit, pushing her backside into his crotch. 

_ Oh, fuck, wait, what— _ and he realized she’d done it on purpose. “Exactly,” he said, his voice suddenly gone hoarse. His nose ached.  _ Christ.  _ This had to be some humiliation attempt to get back at him. His dick was stirring to life under his pants, ready and willing, and he was dead certain she’d be able to feel it if he didn’t— Quickly, Solo jerked away from Rey. “Try it now,” he said, trying to think of batting scores or his broken nose or anything that would get his mind off what was going on in his pants.

Rey took a swing and a kick at the bag, connecting solidly with a loud  _ whack, _ and shook out her hand, grinning. “Nice,” she said. “All right. I’ve changed my mind. You can stay for the whole hour. But I’m not responsible for jumping in when Luke comes back.”

He winced. Right. Uncle Luke. “How much longer do I have before then?”

“Like, five minutes. Don’t panic.”

_ “Christ.” _

* * *

In the end, the fight lasted about an hour, and culminated in Luke throwing an old trophy at his nephew before Solo dodged it and it broke a mirror. At that point, Rey came running out of the back office with her trusty broom and a bucket of ice water from the communal cooler and drenched them both, shouting at them to cut it the fuck out already before they destroyed the whole building.

They ordered pizza. A long conversation was had. Luke closed up early and decided he was going to Trader Joe’s to decompress, leaving Solo and Rey alone in the gym, eating the rest of the pizza and chatting.

And if that turned into something else, well, who was going to blame either of them, really?

Only a small thing.  _ We can turn down the lights.  _ And in the dark, of course, you had to be close to find each other, which meant Solo found his hands stuck under the elastic of Rey’s sports bra, her own hand in his pants as they tried to kiss each other without it affecting their various facial injuries… that is, until Luke came back and flicked the lights on and Rey jerked out of his arms with a wild choking gasp, her eyes wide, even the one surrounded by yellowed bruising. 

“If what I think is happening in there is happening in there,” said Luke, stern and dry from the doorway as Ben froze, his very obvious erection jutting through his pants, “it  _ better not be. _ ”

“I was just— going home,” Rey said, all in a rush as she stood, smoothing her hair down. “And Ben— Ben’s staying with me. We’ll, we— it—”

“Christ’s sakes,” said Luke, rubbing his eyes. “Get out of here, you crazy kids. Be safe. Get some sleep.”

Solo’s ears felt as red as his cheeks. “Yes, yeah, okay, see you later,” he muttered, stumbling to his feet and following Rey out the door past his uncle and into the darkness of the gym, where his footsteps echoed in the shadows.


End file.
